When We Say Good-bye
by JEGlass
Summary: "She sat for a moment on the branch above the grave, worrying her presence in this holy place might disrupt the balance of things. The wind touched her silvery hair and brushed it aside as tenderly as a lover, but she hardly felt it, hardly had a cause to care..."


She sat for a moment on the branch above the grave, worrying her presence in this holy place might disrupt the balance of things. The wind touched her silvery hair and brushed it aside as tenderly as a lover, but she hardly felt it, hardly had a cause to care. Her green eyes, so much like the forest at dawn, remained glued on the headstone below and what it meant. This was still her forest and her world—her trees, her earth, her sky, and her _magic_ —but the Christians had made it as much their home as it was hers, and Aisling needed to respect that. For his sake, at least, there would be peace. The monks had meant no harm in bringing him here. They knew how much Brendan loved this grove high in the mountains with a roaring waterfall at its back, overlooking the village in the valley below. How many times had the two worlds, that of fae and Christian, met in this grove and shared laughter and love between them. How many stories had Brendan told the fae girl, rider of the winds and wolf runner, and how many tales of her people, the Tuatha de Dannan, had passed her lips over the years? Now, however, the laughter and joy was gone— _he_ was gone—and it seemed as if some of the beauty of the glade had been leeched away by unseen forces.

A gentle groan from the bough Aisling sat upon was the only indication she'd moved, slipping as gracefully as fluid water from the treetops to the ground next to the intricately carved headstone. A trail of falling leaves was the only indication she'd even been in the tree half a heartbeat ago. Standing tall with a natural grace that was anything but human, the fae girl regarded the marble marker in front of her, head canted to one side. Aisling didn't understand the meaning of such markers. Brendan had explained many years ago that headstones were meant to show mourning and remembrance. They marked the site of a grave and acted as a type of beacon for those wishing to mourn or remember lost loved ones.

 _How cold humans are if they cannot keep the memory of a loved one alive with song and tale. They have to resort to erecting lifeless slabs of rock in order for them to recall who has passed on,_ Aisling frowned, staring hard at the three foot tall Christian cross carved out of gleaming white marble.

It was curious the stone masons and monks had chosen this particular Christian symbol to mark Brendan's grave. Had they forgotten that the cross surrounded by the circular sun had once been a symbol for the Druids and people of the forest? Had that tale too been lost to the passage of time? Aisling thought the monks were better at recording than that. They certainly had no problem picking apart her world like children picking the petals off a flower, dissecting everything they saw and arguing over its significance. Or perhaps it was something else. Perhaps they had neglected to record the true meaning of the symbol for more nefarious reasons. Followers of the Christ god were always taking things that didn't belong to them, but Aisling had thought these monks better than the rest.

 _Apparently I think too highly of holy men I have not yet met._

Still, despite her irritation at seeing the theft and desecration of a once sacred symbol, Aisling had to begrudgingly admit that even in stone Brendan's talents shone like polished gold. The boy had been a wonder from the start, his hands and mind capable of crafting the most beautiful pieces of art the world had ever seen. With just the flick of his wrist the pages of once dull parchment had come to life with vivid colors and knotwork as if he possessed an inkling of the magic flowing all around him. Surely he had been touched by some deity of creation, preferably his god if you were speaking to him about it, for no normal human possessed his skill.

Almost hesitantly, the forest spirit reached out a slender arm and touched delicate pale fingers against the marble's cool surface. Closing her eyes, Aisling let her fingertips glide across the knots, memorizing them in a way she'd never been able to when they were strictly on paper.

"Hello….Brendan," she said at last, unsure how she was supposed to communicate with someone who was beyond her power to reach. Her voice sounded unfamiliar and unwelcome in the glade, almost as if she were interrupting a sacred ceremony. Fighting to keep her spirits high, Aisling smiled, her fangs glinting in the sunlight.

"I apologize for taking so long to reach you. Things in my world are not so simple anymore. How are you? How is heaven?"

Heaven. Yes, Brendan had spoken of the place often, pointing and reading from his religious tome or reciting memorized passages. It was where his singular god lived amongst his chosen people and angels. It was where all those who followed the Christ god, those like Brendan, went after death. The concept wasn't all that strange to Ashaling, but his god was. Strange that a creator wouldn't want to walk amongst his creations like Dannan did. Strange how he locked himself away behind a gate of gold and omitted entrance to a select few. The belief of a celestial world beyond the sight of mortal men rang true with many different fae beings, but that was where Aisling and the monk had differed in opinion. To Brendan there was only one afterlife. To Aisling there were many wondrous places that death's door opened….wondrous places she would likely visit alone now.

"I had so many things I wanted to say to you, Brendan," Aisling sighed, letting her hand drop to her sides. "It was hard for me not to be there in your last moments. Your monks wouldn't have allowed someone like me to stand by your bedside, but Pangur Ban was there in spirit. She nuzzled your cheek and sat beside you while you faded. Did you feel her?"

Unbidden, tears suddenly touched Aisling's green eyes, but she let them fall, silver trails sliding down her face and dripping from her cheeks and chin as grief finally found a way to the surface. Oh, grief wasn't something new to the fae. She had known such profound sadness that her voice had abandoned her for years, running from pain her body couldn't physically escape. But this was a different kind of grief. This sadness twisted in her throat like fingers digging into her skin. This sadness chilled her blood and made her want to both scream and howl. This sadness was the sadness of separation, of knowing she'd missed her chance to say good-bye and would never see a beloved friend again. It was anguish, plain and simple, and it tore the ancient fae apart as if she were nothing but parchment thrown to the wolves.

"I wanted to be there, my friend," she sobbed, choking on her words. "We have shared so much together, but I couldn't be there in your final moments, and I hate you for it." Bracing her arms against the headstone, she slammed the marble with her palms, gritting her teeth and baring her fangs. With each sentence she slammed against the stone as if determined to drive her sadness into the mineral.

"I hate you for sending me away. I hate you for being what you are. I hate you for being human and for being mortal. I hate you, yet I love you at the same infuriating time. You are a contradiction, Brendan, to everything I've ever known. To many of my people you were the enemy, but I loved you still. Did you ever love me in return?"

When no answer came but unending silence, Aisling's knees finally gave out and she slid quietly down onto the soft grass, resting her head against the headstone. For a long time silence overtook the glade as the fae's tears fell. Even the waterfall seemed muted to her sharp ears as if showing reverence towards her sorrow. Eventually the wave of grief passed and Aisling was able to speak again, but her words rang hallow like a tree filled with rot.

"I hope your heaven is as beautiful as you described it. I hope that you've found peace at the feet of your god, and that you can paint the walls with your knots and pictures like you did here on Earth. Maybe someday," she smiled sadly, rubbing at her eyes, "I can glimpse the beauty of your heaven, though I think your god might object to me being there. Gods are jealous beings when it comes to their followers. But I can hope. I can hope to see you again, my friend. At least…I know I can come speak with you even though I do not know if you can hear."

A brisk wind chose that moment to sweep into the glade, pulling the hair from Aisling's shoulders with invisible fingers. She thought she heard a familiar voice, low and comforting, breathe into her ear, but it could have been her imagination. Or it could have been the last remnant of her lifelong friend—the strange boy with a touch of the wild magic in his fingers and a smile that could challenge the sun in its radiance— whispering his final good-bye to the equally strange fae being who had changed his life forever. Whatever it was, Aisling nodded knowingly and leaned back against the headstone, watching the clouds drift lazily across a cobalt blue sky. She figured if she squinted hard enough she could see Brendan waving at her from his heaven where his uncle and mentor waited with open arms to receive him.


End file.
